In a Mirror, Darkly

[Perun]

A few thousand feet above, a remarkably average day turned unexpectedly overcast. In the tunnels of Vanaheim, far beneath the mountains, Perun's mood was just as dark. It took all his self control to keep his hands from balling into fists and slamming into the stone walls as he passed; bad things often happened when he allowed his temper to flare.

Far enough from the chamber to be confident that his sister's abilities did not pose a danger, he halted and pulled the bronzed helmet from his head, blinking as the dim light of the corridor assaulted his previously blinded peripheral vision. Helm cradled in one arm, he ran the gloved hand of the other through his hair, the film of sweat and condensation allowing him to convert his flattened coif of hair into inadvertent spikes.

His now-moist palm lingered over his eyes, both unpleasant and soothing at the same time. He let them close, reaching deep into the recesses of his mind in search of the soothing voice that always whispered what he needed to hear to keep himself under control.

Moments passed before his eyes opened again, his self not immersed in total calm, but far less incensed than before. A small hint of a smile tugged at his lips as his keen senses picked up on a familiar approach. "Trying to sneak up on me, huh?" he half-muttered, his smile blossoming as he turned to settle his eyes on the one woman in all the world who made everything better.

[Andraste]

"Now, that's just unfair," the voice was coy, representing a smirk yet unformed on lips. "We both know if I was really trying you'd be completely at my mercy."

Andraste regarded her husband with her usual demeanor caught somewhere between shameless flirtation and quiet dedication. She had always been aware of the fact her eyes that had wonderful ability to make him feel exposed no matter what and she never hid the pleasure she received from it from him. But something there, something she saw in the reflection of everything he was disquieted her and brought upon a more somber look.

"He won't allow it, will he?" It was hard to keep the edge from her words.

Andraste respected her father-in-law to a degree of loyalty that had once been described as bordering on fanaticism, but her loyalty was always firstly to Perun. Her steps were light as she closed the distance between them, her hand reaching out to gently touch his cheek. If everything permitted she would always shield him, stand by his side through any battle, but those faced in his Wotan's presence were always beyond her control and the sense of powerlessness at those times were almost unbearable.

She wouldn't ask him any further questions, not directly. But there was no doubt what he saw as she looked to him, a simply asking of what do you need me to do that never went spoken.

[Perun]

"No."

There wasn't anger any more; nor frustration; just disappointment and resignation. Acceptance of the fact that his father had lost faith in him, and would never trust him to do anything again.

Rather than the slump such sentiments should have forced upon him however, the feel of his beloved wife's face bolstered his resolve. He straightened, a new smile summoned to his lips for her this time. There was a hint of mischief there, but above all it spoke of the inferno in his chest that ignited every time his eyes gazed upon her. She was not just the subject of his affections; a woman he had chosen to dote his feelings upon. There had been no choice. No question. They were not merely husband and wife; not merely lovers; they were two halves of a whole. She was his equal - his better - in every conceivable way. They lived, loved, laughed, cried, fought, all at each other's side. When she was with him, Perun was better. He did not fear losing her, or being apart from her, because he could not comprehend a reality where such a thing could be true.

"I am therefore going anyway."

He caught himself, a little too late perhaps, but at least before she had the chance to correct him. "We are going anyway."

There was no choice or question there, either: no attempt to protect his beloved by hiding her away from harm and danger. They would fight together, and one day they would die together, and that was how it was meant to be. Andraste and Perun: inseparable as lightning and thunder.

[Andraste]

Her eyes had searched his for a hint that he was speaking falsehoods and saw none. It would not be the first time that Perun had gone against his father's wishes, but it would perhaps be the first she had joined him for such an expedition. She never would deny that every time Perun stepped from his father's shadow she grew to love him all the more. A wave of excitement overcame her and she found herself suddenly pulling her husband to her as she practically crushed her lips to his. Some girls may found giddiness from receiving flowers, a gentle kiss on the hand, a kind word, and yes there had been a time when she was among them, but time had changed everything and now it was the simple desire to always be at his side that meant the world to her.

She found herself breathless once they finally parted, her mind filled with the passion that was them and the thrill of upcoming battle. It had been too long since they had been trapped behind the walls of Vanaheim. They were warriors that had been reduced to nothing more than glorified watchdogs growing stagnant when the battle was far from won. Andraste could not deny that there was wisdom in keeping those they could safe, but there were those that were suited to such tasks and she and Perun had never truly been among them.

"Good." She finally managed to make herself speak once more. "Because I had already made preparations. I would hate to have seen them go to waste."

[Skuld]

“Prepare for unseen consequences.”

The voice came from behind the pair, the speaker pacing out of the length of corridor that Perun had stalked down. Garbed in the green and gold robes of her station, with the Lathe of Alfheim in her left hand, Skuld regarded Perun and Andraste with an implacable expression: brows drawn together a fraction, lips pursed into a thin line of contemplation. She halted, a short distance from the two of them, and planted the base of her staff against the ground with a sharp click.

She watched Perun, with eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“From this moment, the fate of many worlds hang on the advisedness of your every deed, stormbringer.”

[Perun]

Perun squared his shoulders against her, a cutting edge creeping into his voice.

"And what advice do you bring with you, witch? Will you advice further cowardice, as you do to my father? Should I cower behind these walls, wait until it is too late to stop the danger that will inevitably consume us?"

A glare filled his eyes, every bit as intense as the one she tried to wield.

"You are nought but talk, Skuld. You speak of powerful forces and irresistible destinies, but you sit, and you hide, and you do nothing. You are words; I am action. You will not stop me; not this time."

The muscles in his jaw bunched, shoulders and fists tensing in silent threat.

"And it would be far less painful for you if you were not to try."

[Skuld]

She had sat at Wotan's side – served as his Sorcerer Supreme – for long enough to know the temper of his son. The earth quaked and the skies cracked when Perun raged, and in Vanaheim the days were few when Skuld did not at some hour feel the ground shake beneath her feet. She did not tremble at his outburst, however. If he was fire, she was ice: as hard and cool as the crystal set into the curved blade at the tip of her staff.

“You mistake reckless abandon for bravery, stormbringer. Now more than ever, you are ensnared within destiny's web – and you have bound all of us in it with you.”

Whatever cautions were rising to the tip of her tongue were silenced. There was no point or purpose to lecturing Perun in the nature of fate, not anymore.

“But you are right: I will not stop you this time, because I.. cannot. This... must happen, and I must stand by your side to face destiny with you.”

[Andraste]

"We do not need you, miserable hagraven!" If she had been more like her father Andraste would have spit, but as it was she simply had been glad to not strike at the sorceress.

It was no secret that she shared her husband's opinions on the woman and perhaps for once it was not simply to share in Perun's sentiments. Andraste had questioned time and time again why it was that Skuld refused to use everything within her supposed grand power to end the conflict. So much had been lost and could have been saved, so many boons could have been granted to the Vanguard, the Guardians, and her family. Yet here they all remained, shells of what they all once were, surviving instead of living. Somewhere in time was a house filled with the sound of laughter, of joy, of her children, of her family - it had been denied to her. Andraste could clearly see the evils that were truly to blame, but she would never hesitate to mark those who could have done more to be just as guilty.

"You who speak of fate to us. Throw your lies to those who will believe them." She grew far too bold, but such things had been brewing for so long that they now could not be held back. "You did not intervene before when your precious destinies would have given us hope. We had an answer and no one, not you, not Aegis, not even Wotan even bothered to-"

Andraste's words were cut short by the sudden weight of her husband's hand on her shoulder. Rage that had flooded her vision suddenly being replaced with a deep sorrow that rarely showed itself. It as well as the tears that threatened to blur her vision were blinked away as she slowly raised her hand to lock her fingers with Perun's, his strength adding to her own once more.

A slow breath was taken before her gaze fully focused upon Skuld once more. "Why now?"

[Skuld]

There was little tolerance and even less affection in Vanaheim for Wotan's sorcerer: a woman who had not been born with power but rather acquired it. A power that, to their minds, she used far too sparingly. Yours will be a thankless burden, ravenchild, the White Lord had warned Skuld many years ago, as he gifted the Lathe of Alfheim to her. He was not wrong. A lesser woman might have balked under the challenges and the threats against her character, but Skuld's resolve was ironclad. She weathered Andraste's outburst as she had done before. It was not the first time that she had been challenged by the stormbringer and his wife – but it might well be the last.

“The hour has come.”

Her eyes shifted to Perun.

“Whatever differences may have parted us in the past must be forgotten, if we are to stand united.”

[Perun]

Stand united.

Seldom did that sentiment come without the threat of a fall. Solomon's eyes narrowed, scrutinising Skuld's features for any hint or clue of the insight she believed she possessed. Her face was as unreadable as ever, too plastered with subtle scribings of disdain and arrogance towards the mutants and their crude, chaotic, compartmentalised abilities. He was loathed to trust her, let alone set aside their differences, cooperate, and stand together; but if she was, that meant grave things indeed.

His hand found Andraste's arm; trailed down past her wrist to thread his fingers with hers in solidarity.

"Very well," he said, summoning his strength to drive as much of the reluctance from his voice as he possibly could.

His other hand raised his helmet, and settled it back where it belonged.

"There is not much time. We must assemble with the others."

[Victory]

At the compound...

Air eased it's way into the zeppelin, inflating the ballonets within the lighter-than-air balloon, compressing the helium into smaller and more dense volumes to diminish it's ability to reduce the weight of the craft. Slowly, the zeppelin became heavier and heavier, sinking through the air and into the broad crater that had once been a warehouse district, but had since been swept clean for exactly this purpose. Contact with the ground sent a bone-shuddering vibration through the airship. Most of the passengers braced themselves in seats or against bulkheads; but not Victory. He stood with unwavering calm, steady as a rock, hands clasped behind his back as he waited for the ramp to descend.

The guards, attendants, and workers who had braved the surface formed themselves into a hasty avenue. Some were military, but most were not, and it showed in their scrappy formation and poor posture. Victory bit down against his own teeth in frustration: Lord Pyre had time and again denied his requests to bolster their military through conscription. According to their patriarch, there was no one alive dangerous to pose any threat to Him; but He missed the very point of the notion. With occasional exceptions, service would breed discipline and order, and would instil a sense of loyalty and duty in the population. As well, the modest Imperial Guard was populated by volunteers: loyal perhaps, to the point of fanaticism in some cases; but often the best weapons were not those freely given, but rather the ones that were forged bespoke for the task.

Holding himself at the fullness of his stature, he strode out onto the broken concrete, noting with a shred of satisfaction that they had at least chosen a fairly level area to assemble. His eyes stalked the twin lines of mutants; settled on the two figures waiting at the distant end. Commander Psion and his power-stealing whore; the Conduit, or whatever trumped-up descriptor had been decided upon. His face fought against his willpower, lip curling into a snarl. Nothing about mutancy and the abilities it granted seemed particularly natural, but the power to rip those gifts from one person and bestow them upon another felt like an affront.

Subconsciously, Victory's hand strayed to the hilt of the sword hanging from his waist. Word was that the bitch was important, key even, and so he would force himself to tolerate her presence; but if she strayed within arm's reach before then, he would be sure to strike before she had the chance.

Gathering his frustration together, he squeezed it into his lungs and unleashed a ground-shaking bellow. "Stand tall, and show some respect!" he demanded. His voice echoed upon the shattered remnants of walls and buildings. "Lord Pyre and Lady Morrígan grace you with Their presence."

[Morrigan]

It gnawed at her insides, scraping slowly against her psyche to see the dual lines of their followers. Not for the same reasons as Victory, oh no, hers was a more primal need, the incessant desire to watch them all burn. The sensation was quelled only by an overwhelming amusement that tugged her attention away from slaughter. There had been so many little moments like this where she would find herself at His side before others. Not His wife, her. Regardless what it made others think, to Morrigan it simply was satisfying. She was not just another pawn and it was well that everyone knew it.

Unfeeling gaze moved across the ranks of those assembled, finally coming to the end where suddenly hatred blazed. Syn. She had long envisioned the moment they would inevitably come into conflict, the girl who stole the powers of others, and the woman whose power could not be taken. It was Syn's continued usefulness that had spared her time and time again. One day that usefulness would run out and watchful eyes would not be upon her. It gave Morrigan something to look forward to.

It was perhaps with undue unkindness that her visage only softened back to apathetic as she finally found her eyes meeting those of Psion. His continued gifts given to him by the Conduit gave him all manner of things, except the ability to hide that flicker that caused the beast within to let its instinctual passions slam foremost into the front of her mind once more. She would have words with him later...if she could contain herself that long.

A small breath was released as she looked upon the entire group once more.

"Pitiful." More mouthed than spoken, the single utterance left her in a contemptuous whisper.